Evil Is As Evil Does
by frostygossamer
Summary: That night, in the backseat of the Impala, Dean tasted Sam's demon-tainted blood for the first time. A dark AU piece. hunter!Bobby hunted!Dean/Sam. Character death. Wincest.


Summary: That night, in the backseat of the Impala, Dean tasted Sam's demon-tainted blood for the first time. A dark AU piece.

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Evil Is As Evil Does by frostygossamer

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PoV: Bobby Singer, sad old drunk, loyal friend of John Winchester, hunter

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The Winchester boys were demons.

It all began with their mother, Mary, and her deal. She traded the soul of her unborn child for her lover. Now, that's gonna turn out good, oh sure.

My good old buddy John, he told me how it started, just after Sam turned 16. One night he came back and burst in on his boys. They were rutting together like farm animals. Hell, he was incandescent with rage and disgust. He told Sam, his younger boy, he had always known he was evil. The night his mom died, a demon had tainted the kid's blood. And John had always feared, always known, that one day his boy would turn on him, try as he might not to believe. And now Sam was going to Hell and he was taking his brother with him. Dean, who John thought he could trust. Dean, who had always been his good boy.

And Dean had chosen Sam. If Sam was evil then Dean was evil too, right?

So Sam had packed up and cleared out, gone. And Dean had left with him, in John's Chevy.

From that day till this, the two demonic brothers had hauled ass across the U.S. from Pacific to Atlantic, from Canada to the Mexican border, hunting and killing demons, men, women, children, what-the-heck, and screwing each other senseless in the middle of all the mayhem. Serial killers on a spree.

John Winchester and his trusty pal Bobby Singer, that's me, were on their asses all the way. Up until that day, 5 years on, when John had cornered them in Denver, and he hesitated just a heartbeat, hesitated to pull the trigger on his own flesh. So they cut his ass down, in cold blood, and I was left to fight the good fight alone.

I had a weight of revenge on my shoulders. Revenge for my own life fucked up. Plus the terrible hateful vengeance of my good old friend John. I was ready to wipe all trace of the damned Winchesters off the map, not caring if they took my ass with them. It was my sole purpose, all I had left.

That was why I had gotten too close, close enough to get my ass caught. And that was why I was here, now, chained to a damned radiator, groggy, as that savage blow to the head wore off and the world stopped spinning long enough for my damned eyes to start working again.

Sam sat crouched on his heels some six feet away, elbows on knees, hands hanging limply between. The look on his face was jubilant.

"Hiya, Bobby", he said cheerfully. "Long time no see."

I groaned, shuffling my ass into a less uncomfortable position, the cuffs on my wrist rattled, chafing a red lesion in my skin.

The abandoned cabin smelt damp and musty, like my grandpa's tool-shed. There was nothing much in the room, nothing that looked like it would make any kind of weapon, a chair, a flimsy table, one ramshackle bed.

"Where's yer bastard brother?", I asked growling.

"That's for me to know", Sam grinned, like some crazy-eyed kid.

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PoV: Dean Winchester, son of John, protector of Sam, killer

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It all went wrong when Sam was almost 16, sprouting like some kinda human beanstalk, all weird hormones and wandering hands. One night he had just kinda... breathed on me, and before we knew it we were humping like bunnies, any and everywhere we could.

I knew then the kinda evil Sam was and I loved it.

Then Dad burst in, caught us together. And the things he said, the hatred. My own Dad, who I'd always followed, followed blindly without question.

Hell, I could just about remember when John was a great Dad, back before it all went south, back when I was still his 'little angel', before I became his 'little soldier'. Sam never got the good stuff from him. And I grew up knowing two things: (A) Dad was always right, righteous even, and I was his faithful disciple, and (B) I was supposed to look out for Sam, look out for Sam no matter what.

I had to choose, so I went with (B). Sam clung to me. If Sam was evil then so was I, right?

Sam wanted to leave. I begged him to stay but he packed his bag and was gone. I had to follow him. I had to. I took the Impala and pulled him in at the end of the road. Then we were both gone.

At two in the morning we parked someplace, by the side of the highway. We lay together in the backseat of the Impala, and he cried. Hell, we both cried. He was demon-tainted, infected, he said, and I shouldn't be with him. I said I had to be with him. I belonged with him. And I held him. He took out his knife and ran it along his tongue. God, that smarted for a week. And his mouth filled with blood. And I kissed him, I tasted him, I swallowed his blood. So if he was tainted then I was tainted too. Job done.

We kept on our toes ever since. Running. Running from Dad. Running from Dad and his good old pardner Bobby Singer, the same guy that used to baby-sit Sam odd times. Running from all the hunters, freeloaders and bounty guys that Dad hired along the way. Always running.

Time and again we'd come across a demon, a ghost, a zombie, some kinda monster. So we spared the time to gank them, save the world just a little. Sometimes innocent people got hurt. It happens, collateral damage they call it. And there were desperate nights of love, torn and bloody, bruised and hurting, hands, arms, legs, lips, heat and sweat.

That day, just outside Denver, when Dad found us, holed up in a motel older than God and just as roachy. I thought it was over. He had the drop on us. I tried to talk to him. I tried to make him understand. He was like stone, adamant.

I went for the gun, if I took the bullet maybe Sam would get away. There was a struggle and, God knows how, Sam somehow managed to get the gun out of his hand. And I begged Dad to just go. Go and leave us the Hell alone.

Sam pulled the trigger. I don't think he even meant to. But he was afraid. Afraid that I was gonna let Dad go. And we would have to keep on running. He was all run out. I don't blame him.

We remembered Bobby. But we reckoned without that broken old bum, Dad's avenger, taking on Dad's mission alone. Bobby had turned up a couple months later. Thank God the guy reeked of booze. We wouldn't have heard him coming. Now we got him handcuffed to the rusty old rad in our little hideaway in the woods.

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PoV: Sam Winchester, lover of Dean, patricide, desperado

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"We gotta do it", I told Dean, sweating, my nerves on edge. "We gotta end this. We gotta take him out."

"Bobby?"," he said. "That sad old guy. That pathetic old barfly? Hell, Sam, we gonna kill everyone we ever knew? We gotta turn this around. We gotta start here."

I looked at him, my eyes wild and unfocused. "You're not stupid, Dean", I said. "There's no other way. He'll keep coming."

"Sam", Dean pleaded, but I knew that he knew I was bone-tired.

"Sorry, Dean", I said quietly, loading my pistol. My hands were shaking.

"OK", he snapped, taking control as usual. "Alright, but I'll take care of it", he said, peeling my fingers off of the gun butt.

"He was right", I stammered, tears welling up. "Dad was right. I am evil. This is all down to me. I did it. I fucked everything up."

"No", Dean insisted calmly. "No Sammy, it was all Dad. You never did anything wrong, except show me I wanted you."

He unlocked Bobby's cuffs and took the old guy outside for a slug of whiskey and a last smoke.

Then I heard a muffled shot and the slump of a falling body. I heard Dean take a shovel from the back of his car and start to dig. He was burying the old dog, just like I buried dear old Dad.

After a while Dean came back inside. He was worn out and filthy. I went straight over and kissed him. He sank into the kiss like a guy in quicksand. We pulled off each other's clothes as we staggered onto the rickety old bed. And then we made love. Yes, it was real love, hot and pure and needy and free.

"I love you, Dean", I said.

"God, Sammy, I hope so", he answered, smiling.

That night our sleep was deep and without dreams.

The End

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A:N: OK, so this means the TV series never happened. John is dead. Bobby is dead. Sam never went to college, never fell out with Dean and is a bit crazy. Dean has gotten over his daddy issues. Like it?


End file.
